Scarlet
by JustAnotherAuthorDurping
Summary: Silk. Scarlet silk. Like virgin water stained with the color of blood, it drapes richly between her fingers and pools over her palms with the lightness and smoothness that only liquid could possibly posses." Sparrabeth post AWE AU. R&R?


A/N: This was originally a drabble, but complications arose and whatnot so it became a short little fic, based on **Zay-la's** **(Zayz) **little story prompt she gave me "scarlet". My apologies for the long wait Zay, and the fact that this is actually very bad… I just got my Sparrabeth mojo back as you know and decided to use this ficlet to get rid of the hideous rustiness that has enveloped my brain and creative juices.

**Scarlet:**

Silk. Scarlet silk.

Like virgin water stained with the color of blood, it drapes richly between her fingers and pools over her palms with the lightness and smoothness that only liquid could possibly posses. Her skin loves it instantly and she rubs the pure Chinese fabric carefully between her fingers like a tabby would someone's legs, not being able to hold back the subtle sigh of wonder. So fine. So rich.

Stitched about the hems and sleeves are gold flowers connected together with a single vine of unity, yet free blossoms blow about them recklessly with the wind's whisper. Her nimble fingers wander about the stitches that feel as if they are part of the silk themselves, hardly even a raise in the fabric.

She knows whom it is from. He stops by the Cove every so often, a token from some far away land appearing in her chambers that she is always secretly eager to discover. The items range from baubles and jewels to scarves and multi-colored glass, but never before has it been clothing. And the fact that the first clothing is a robe of this nature causes a warm heat to nag at her belly.

Surely he wants her to wear it. And show him. A seductive smile lingers on her lips, perverse thoughts and memories running rampant across her mind; it would be fun, she admits to herself. She is positive half of these gifts are for the benefit of himself and not just her own pleasure – the sandalwood perfume she knows, is an example of his half-selfish thinking…

However, she finds herself doubting the article the longer she holds it. Surely a gown of this type was meant for a woman with curves and she herself lacks a figure of any type. She is thin though well-toned, but knows she does not have anything to fill the garment or give it life; it will look like a sack on her.

Though it would not hurt to try it on out of curiosity…

"Put it on."

His sudden presence fails to startle her and she casts a look over her shoulder.

In half-hearted protest, she tells him, "It does not entirely suit me-."

Padding over to her, he stands behind her and begins unlacing her shirt slowly; through the dense forest of her hair, he purrs into her ear with a tone as smooth as the silk in her hands, "Humor me love and just try it on."

Undoing the ties to her muslin shirt, he tugs it over her head and then whatever undershirts she has concealed beneath. He slowly trails his fingers down the line of hills that runs down the center of her back, taking his time to then hook his digits at the hem of her waistband and tug down both her breeches and undergarments.

Though she is not bashful to be completely unclad before his wandering eyes, his presence behind her makes a slight tremor travel up her spine.

"May I?" His hand appears at the side of her head and she forfeits the robe to him. Turning only her head, she watches as he unfolds the robe and holds it out open for her. Slowly, she steps backward into his hold and allows her arms to travel through the arms of the gown, reveling at the feeling of the silk pressed flush against her bare skin and granting a small sigh to escape her mouth.

Her hands automatically tie it off and then she turns to face him. When her eyes meet his they are the shade of a starless night sky and set unwaveringly upon hers. However, it takes only moments for them to give in, raking slowly up and down her figure with a scrutinizing look.

"Is it favorable?" she inquires, subtly amused.

"More then favorable, I assure you my liege, however…"

"Nothing at all is always-."

"Preferred."

They both can not hold back the grin that laces around their lips and tugs them upwards, albeit, his eyes still hover along her frame. She notices his fingers twitch. Slowly, she breaks the small distance between them and tilts her head to his.

"That can always be arranged," she assures him in a whisper, arching a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

Adonis's smirk grows larger on his lips. "Of course."

When their lips meet in a kiss it is unhurried and filled with ardor, yet it slowly progresses into something far more demanding. His hands sculpt to the dip of her back and curve of her hip, fingering the feather-light material that conceals the ivory treasure beneath.

Drawing apart for a brief moment, he inhales the lingering scent of sandalwood that drifts around her neck, intoxicating his nose when it mixes with the unique smell of her own. He brings a hand from her hip to her neck, parting the cloth leisurely.

"My dear swan, I have been away for _far_ too long…" Their lips meet again in a kiss, his body nudging her back eagerly towards the four-poster mahogany bunk, his fingers kneading their way across the expanse of her chest.

Pulling his lips from hers again, he opens his onyx orbs to her and smirks.

"My scarlet swan..."


End file.
